There is Redemption in the Blood
by ilovetvalot
Summary: Months later, they meet again. When Emily Prentiss faces off with her nemesis, can she prevail? TWOSHOT
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note: Stay tuned for our next challenge on the Chit Chat on Author's Corner Forum. We'd love to see everyone participate.**_

_**We also wanted you to know, we're on Facebook now. Look us up under "Ilovetvalot Fanfiction" and add away. It's just another way for we authors and readers to remain in contact!**_

_**And check out our new "Times are Changing" mini-challenge at Chit Chat on Author's Corner forum. This one is for those Ashley Seaver fans that would like to write a resolution to her storyline.**_

_**And please, join us for the newest challenge on Chit Chat on Author's Corner. "Writers of the Silver Screen Movie Title Prompt Challenge" is now open! Please visit the forum, check out the newest thread, and join us!**_

**There Is Redemption in the Blood**

**Chapter One**

From the moment she'd introduced herself to him, she'd known she was in over her head.

His presence alone was intimidating, enough to suck the air from any room in which he held court.

And no amount of covert training could have prepared her for the ruthlessly sexy terrorist that was Ian Doyle.

He'd been a job. Hell, he'd _been_ the job. And she'd done it...and him.

But, now, she was done. With him…with the job…with everything.

For months, she'd been running from him. Hiding. Living in fear. She was so overwhelmingly tired of it all, exhausted to the core of her being. Her survival instinct had kept her moving for the first six months, that instinctive need to protect herself fueling her every move. But fumes were all she had left now, and she was on the verge of complete and total physical and mental collapse.

So now, standing in front of the house where it had all began...where they had began…she knew that running was no longer an option for her. She was done with running. Either she'd perish today or he would. It was that simple.

The fact that she wasn't already dead meant he was watching her, and that knowledge made the fine hair on her arms raise.

"Well, well, well," Ian Doyle drawled from the swing on the veranda of the wraparound porch, hidden in the shadows. "Hello, Lauren. Or do you prefer Emily today?" he asked conversationally, his Irish brogue heavy in his homeland.

Startled, Emily quickly schooled her face into a neutral mask as she prepared to make her move. "That depends entirely on who you want to talk to, Ian," she replied, forcing herself to put one foot on the wooden stairs that led to the porch.

"I don't particularly want to speak to either of you," Ian said coldly, fingering the gun in his hand lazily, the firearm as constant a presence in his life as his own thoughts. "Unless, of course, you've developed a conscience and decided to tell me where my son is."

Shaking her head as she steadily ascended the steps, Emily smiled benignly. "Now, we both know neither Lauren nor I would tell you that, Ian." She couldn't show him any fear. Not now. Any weakness she had, he'd exploit. She should know…he had once taught her all of his tricks. "Lauren wouldn't tell you because, despite what you may think, she loved that little boy like her own. She'd have done anything to protect him from the life you were grooming him for," she explained, walking slowly toward him.

"And Emily?" Ian queried, cocking his head as she approached, his eyes raking her still beautiful body. "Why wouldna she tell me?"

"Oh, that's a simple one," Emily commented as she shrugged negligently. "That bitch hates you, Ian," she said bluntly, lifting her chin defiantly as she came to a halt in front of him.

"You always did have balls," Ian snorted, his eyes rolling. "Coming here to face me. You know you aren't going to leave here alive, I assume," he commented blandly, his gaze flickering toward the horizon.

"Oh, I don't suffer any delusions about my fate." Emily shook her head as she never took her eyes off of him. "Mind if I sit?" she asked, pointing to one of the comfortable overstuffed wicker chairs.

"Tired, Lauren?" he smirked, turning his icy gaze back to her. "Have I run you to ground yet?"

"And back again," Emily murmured, dropping into one of the armchairs, the cushion barely sinking beneath her slight weight. "I'm here, aren't I?" she asked rhetorically, gesturing around her. It would have been beautiful...this Irish wonderland...if it hadn't been filled with such horrible memories.

"You're braver than I gave ya credit for, I'll give you that," Ian admitted with grudging respect as he watched her slowly settle into the seat. "But if ye're thinkin' that you can make a deal w'me, ye're mistaken."

"Oh, I think you made that clear when you shoved a stake through my stomach," Emily snorted, forcing herself to allow her arms to relax loosely against the wicker. Appearances were reality in the hidden world where she operated, after all.

"Ye're lucky it twasn't the heart," Ian stated nonchalantly, his eyes cruel as they bored into hers. "Believe me, Lauren...hope you don't mind me callin' you that," he taunted before continuing, "I thought about takin' aim for it...figured it would just be an empty cavity though..."

Laughing hollowly, Emily shook her head. "Now, that's rich. The terrorist accusing me of not having a heart. How many have you slaughtered exactly, Ian? Tens? Hundreds?"

"Better question, Lauren," Ian interrupted her, holding up a finger. "How difficult was it to fuck me every night...this monster you hated so much?" he asked her quietly.

"I pretended you were someone else," Emily lied easily, unwilling to let him know how deeply he'd affected her. For years, she hadn't allowed herself to be intimate with anyone following his arrest, the memory of his touch scorched into her mind as much as his brand had been seared into her breast months ago. Watching the flash of pain in his eyes, she briefly congratulated herself on the direct hit she'd scored against his ego.

"Well aren't you just the courageous little whore tonight?" he asked, enjoying the brief wince his words caused. "Oh, did that smart a bit, pet?" he asked mockingly, enjoying the look of dismay he saw shining in her expressive eyes. "What would you call it? Only America would train a prostitute..."

"I got what I came for, didn't I?" Emily retorted, feigning indifference as she tapped her fingers against the arm of the chair. "Lucky for me, you liked to talk in bed. All I had to do was lie there, think of England and listen."

"Oh, my dearest Lauren, I seem to recall you doing a lot more than just lying submissively beneath me," Ian returned, twisting the metaphorical knife a bit deeper.

"Trying to needle me, Ian?" Emily asked curiously, her face a perfect mask, her inner thoughts held tightly within the shield she had ever so perfectly created.

"Darling, I wouldn't waste my time with a needle. Although, I wouldn't mind a butcher knife," Ian returned conversationally. "Where's my son, Lauren?"

"I'm not going to tell you that. Your child is better off forgetting that you existed, Doyle," Emily replied, her face expressionless as she looked out over the green fields, her eyes not quite focusing on the distant horizon.

Finger's flexing around the butt of the gun he held, his finger itched to point the weapon at her head and pull the trigger. "You're playing a dangerous game, Sweetling," he warned, biding his time. "One you can't win."

"Let's not be vague here, Ian," Emily snapped impatiently, jerking her head back toward him. "We both know you're going to kill me. Whether I tell you what you want to know or not."

"True," Ian conceded with one sharp nod. "But it's your decision how painful that death has to be," he bargained. "Tell me what I want to know and I'll allow you to go quickly," he offered magnanimously. "A quick double tap to the head," he proposed generously. "Completely painless."

"Ahhhh, you still know how to charm a girl, don't you?" she smiled sweetly at him.

Raking her with dismissive eyes, Ian shook his head. "You were never a girl, Lauren. You were born a conniving bitch, I believe."

"Well, coming from a prize bastard, I'll take that as a considerable compliment," Emily drawled, blinking at him slowly. "If we're going to continue this verbal sparring match," she began, leaning forward in her seat and gesturing toward the wet bar in the corner of the porch, "Do you mind if I fix myself a drink?"

Watching her carefully as she rose, Ian considered her for a long moment. Crooking his finger at her, he replied, "I'll need to be checkin' you for weapons then. Can't have you pullin' out a switchblade to shove into my back, can I?" he asked, reaching out and cupping the swell of her breast.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note: Stay tuned for our next challenge on the Chit Chat on Author's Corner Forum. We'd love to see everyone participate.**_

_**We also wanted you to know, we're on Facebook now. Look us up under "Ilovetvalot Fanfiction" and add away. It's just another way for we authors and readers to remain in contact!**_

_**And check out our new "Times are Changing" mini-challenge at Chit Chat on Author's Corner forum. This one is for those Ashley Seaver fans that would like to write a resolution to her storyline.**_

_**And please, join us for the newest challenge on Chit Chat on Author's Corner. "Writers of the Silver Screen Movie Title Prompt Challenge" is now open! Please visit the forum, check out the newest thread, and join us!**_

_**I still can't review reply without giving myself a migraine, so thank you to everybody who reviews my story. I use them as a barometer for what you guys enjoy. So crack those knuckles and let me know your thoughts.**_

**There is Redemption in the Blood**

**Chapter Two**

Inhaling sharply at the familiarity of his lingering touch, she met his eyes. Gazes clashing as he leisurely slid his hands down her body, Emily cursed her frantically beating heart. Feeling the bile rising in her throat as his hands slid back up her legs, over the insides of her thighs, she mentally steeled herself as she felt his warm breath fanning her through the thin cotton of her shirt.

"You're clean," he said thickly. After all these years...all she'd put him through, his body still wanted her, he thought ruefully, his jeans painfully tight against his groin as he rose from his kneeling position to meet her eyes again.

Arching a brow, she lifted her lips in a half smile. "You sound disappointed."

"I thought you'd be more of a challenge when this moment came," he muttered as he shrugged, dropping back into his chair as she sauntered toward the wooden bar in the corner of the porch. "Fix me one, too, lass," he ordered.

Pouring her own preferred scotch, Emily asked lightly, "Still take Irish whiskey?"

"Neat," Ian confirmed without looking at her.

Methodically reaching for the Jamison's, Emily felt her heartbeat fluttering against her ribcage as she poured the amber liquid into a heavy glass, swirling the liquor as she poured. Staring down at it for a moment, she pulled in a shaky breath.

She could do this. Suffer these final moments with him.

God knew, she'd gotten very good at dealing with the daily anguish and uncertainty her life provided. Because of him, she'd lost everything...everyone that had cared for her...all that she'd worked to gain. In an instant, life as she'd known it had disappeared.

And in its place, mere existence had replaced living.

She was tired of simply existing.

Grabbing their glasses, she walked back to him, offering him his glass. Grimacing as he purposefully caressed her hand as he accepted the leaden tumbler, she bit the inside of her cheek.

Just a few more minutes, and he'd end this torture for her, she told herself calmly, resuming her own seat, sipping her scotch as she waited for him to speak.

"I love my son, Lauren...or Emily...or whoever you are today. You must at least know that," Ian commented, taking a long pull from his own glass as he leaned back against his own chair.

"Men like you can't love, Ian," Emily stated softly, her fingers tightly gripping her own glass. "You don't know how. You can possess. You can own. But, you can't love."

"The Lauren I knew would never have said that to me," Ian spat, belting another shot of the whiskey to the back of his throat angrily. "She knew how much I adored my child."

"That woman was a fabrication, Ian. Haven't you caught on to that yet?" Emily sneered, eyeing him. "I took every piece of intel I had on you and created your perfect mate. And as for adoration," she snarled, "You adored Declan so much that you were planning to mold him in your image. I couldn't allow that to happen."

Slamming back the rest of his drink, Ian hurled the glass toward the steps, an explosion of sound marring the otherwise peaceful evening as shards flew against the hardwoods. "Deceitful bitch!" he hissed, standing up abruptly and staggering as his vision swam. Raising the gun as he blinked rapidly to clear his vision, he wasn't prepared for the hard blow Emily landed against his arm, dislodging the gun from his hand as he stumbled again, falling back against his chair heavily. "What the bloody hell did you do?" he gasped as Emily quickly retrieved the gun, leveling it at his chest coldly.

"Something wrong, Ian?" Emily asked wryly as adrenaline surged through her body, reawakening her.

"Wha- did ye do?" he panted, trying to move his arms...his legs...anything. But nothing responded to his mental commands. He was helpless.

And in that exact moment, he realized that he had lost control. Of everything.

"You really should have checked my pockets," Emily replied smoothly, her eyes narrowing on him, watching as he slowly seemed to freeze. Stepping forward, she knelt down until she was eye level with him. "That's the paralytic you're feeling now, Ian," she explained helpfully. "You can't move. But you can see and feel everything," she whispered violently, pressing the barrel of the gun to his throat.

Watching his eyes dilate, she smiled triumphantly. "That," she said, pressing harder, "right now? That's fear you feel, Ian," she informed him. "Horrible, isn't it?" she asked conversationally. "Now, imagine living every day like that," she said huskily. "Imagine being this afraid from the moment you wake up until the moment you close your eyes again. That's what you did to me," she whispered, her eyes locking with his.

Ian's nostrils flared as he met her gaze. Fucking bitch, he thought, unable to speak. He should have ripped her throat out on sight. But that chance had passed, and he was now at the mercy of the fates that had woven their into his life once again.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking, Ian," Emily smiled, watching his face. "You're wishing you'd just killed me on sight, aren't you?" she asked, knowing she'd receive no answer in return. "You're right; you should have. But I knew you wouldn't. Your ego wouldn't let you. No, you wanted to play with your prey first. Torture and taunt me. I'm so sorry your plan backfired," Emily mocked, trailing the barrel of the gun down his cheek.

Staring at him for a long moment as she sat back on her haunches, Emily shook her head sadly. "You want to know the saddest part of all, Ian? While you couldn't love Lauren Reynolds, she loved you. She prayed you could change. She even offered you and your son a way out, remember? But, you didn't want it. You didn't want a fresh start. You wanted to continue doing what you were doing. And what the hell was she supposed to do with that?"

Swallowing painfully as a cold tear trickled from the corner of her eye, she shook her head. Moving the barrel of the gun to his temper, she inhaled deeply. "If it makes you feel any better, the ghost of Lauren Reynolds will grieve you, Ian," Emily said, her voice hushed, almost reverent. "But the woman I am...Emily Prentiss...she's going to rejoice," she said, feeling a surge of strength she hadn't felt in months as her finger squeezed the trigger of the gun.

The hollow sound of an echoing blast sent the birds scattering from their perch in the trees as Ian Doyle slumped in his seat, a small hole leaking a thin trail of blood down his stubbled cheek.

Lowering the gun, Emily exhaled shakily, her hand shaking at her side.

Turning, she walked slowly down the steps...

...and back into her life.

And she never looked back.

Finis


End file.
